For Errol Beau Ellis: 'Do what you’re doing while you’re doing it’, by son Simon Ellis - 2018

15 February 2018, Abbotsford Convent, Melbourne, Australia

THE GARDEN

First memories

My First strong memories of Errol are him landscaping the garden in our home in Summerhill Road, Glen Iris. The first notion I had of this was the day a man came and cut down a giant Poplar at the back of the property. Errol was always amazed at the tree feller’s precision stating exactly where this tree would fall and pointing at the house, which he missed as the tree fell just short. For a while Errol arranged the slabs of the tree around the garden, but then the works began. Big holes in the ground, giant retaining walls, a pond the size of a lake, rocks and thousands of wooden Tramway Bricks. All this Errol did by hand, with the help of friends to my utter admiration. As a place to play, this construction site was heaven. One morning Sacha and I made experimental sculptures with the concrete. Another time friends came and we built our own BBQ out of the wooden tramway bricks and lit it. Even though the concrete had another intended purpose and the BBQ was lit on a Total Fire Ban Day, Errol didn’t seem to mind too much and encouraged our creativity. This Garden was a special place, our family’s paradise, and it became a special sanctuary in my mind over the years, the only time our family was all together including Daniel who was born at this time. It is no coincidence I became a Landscape Architect.

Formative Years

Errol had always wanted to be better educated, having been forced to leave school at 14 or 15 to start a printing apprenticeship. Around the time he met my mother Anne around 1967 he was working at Australian Aircraft and putting himself through Art school at Caulfield. At Australian Aircraft, Errol’s strictly 9-5 colleagues would take bets on when Errol would turn up to work. His normal hours were 4pm to 2am in the morning.

He lived in student digs on the first floor of an old Toorak mansion at 8 Carmyle Ave with Marc Tremayne and Margaret Thomas, now Margaret Lay. The parties were large, balconies filled with people and Errol playing loud music all night. Here Errol met Anne through Margaret, and in Hawthorn the Smiths through Gus who had recently married Jenny. Errol was working at Austrian Aircraft with Henry, who Andrea would later marry. All these people became friends and family for life.

It was a free fun-loving time and there are stories galore about parties and the house with Marc and Margaret. Errol’s dreams were coming true, but he had to move back to Moorabbin with his mother Sybil after the lease was not renewed and then he got Drafted.

Conscientious Objector

Errol was interviewed by a reporter for the age at the StKilda road line up, before heading to Puckapunyul and the following excerpt appeared in The Age on January 30 1969 when Errol was 23.

'The recruit who looked like Peter Sellers is unlikely to become an officer, he’s a graphic artist.‘Glad to be going in?’

He flushed ‘I feel strongly against conscription.  I’ve been sweating over the right thing to do for months. Should I have refused to do the 2 years in here, and done two years in prison instead? I couldn’t see that was any better’.

After a while he burst out ‘the whole issue is confusing.’

He went to Puckupunyal as a private in D company. All the men were lined up and went in a line receiving their army issue clothing, boots, packs etc. They would run along in a line and the stuff would be thrown into their outstretched arms. I always loved Errol telling the story of when he got to the sergeant issuing the rifles, he didn’t know what he’d do, but as soon as the sergeant threw the rifle at him he knew! He looked him in the eye and threw it straight back and kept going. From this point he refused to have anything to do with combat training or weapons.

The sergeants and corporals tried to break him by making his whole company do drills after the others were dismissed. But luckily, he made many friends and they supported him. Eventually, the Army broke, and worried he’d affect the rest of the company’s morale, they sent him back to Melbourne where he won a court case and was discharged as a contentious objector.

I’ve always been so proud of Errol for facing the Army directly, and have never tired of hearing this story – it grew longer as the years went by and more details emerged. This was the short version.

Anne and Errol were married soon after in July 1969, and following a brief stint as a (not very successful) shopkeeper then a better one as a graphic artist and printer at Melbourne University Student Union, he started his own business.

Spectrascope

I was born in 1972, and I have hazy memories of going down stairs to a basement printing place at the edge of the city to what was Errol’s successful printing and graphic design business, Spectrascope. Here Errol established himself as a graphic artist, printer and publisher and made many business contacts and more friends that would last his lifetime. In particular, John Larsen had opened Malika next door and Errol became great friends with him, Graham Brown and of course Douglas Stewart. Our family and theirs were a huge part of our lives.

In the early seventies, Spectrascope moved from the city to Fitzroy. One story I remember from Brunswick Street is about the pool table at the Evelyn Hotel. He and Doug were playing and some heavies, probably Mafia, came up and said ‘It’s our turn’. Errol innocently replied that they still had a few balls on the table, whereupon the heavy heavy replied that no, it was their turn. At this Errol handed him the cue. But they accepted Errol and his friends and Errol said he always felt safe there after that.

The Studio

By the mid seventies Spectrascope folded despite early success and Errol began publishing from a small studio in the garden at Summerhill Road, where he and Doug started off the Age’s Limited Art Print business. Here he published a book for the Centenary of Ashes cricket test. We were both cricket mad, and loved watching Lille bowl and Marsh catch. He was meeting lots of interesting cricket memorabilia folk for the book. I found all this fascinating. These were great times for me and at the time I remember saying to a class in grade 2 that I wanted to be a graphic Artist like him.

It was good that Errol was always around, picking me up from school and dropping me off. The only problem was he was always late. Most mornings I’d have to wake him up then wait for an eternity while he drained the hot water in the shower. The rare occasions he was already awake when I got up were because he’d been up all night working. We had many parties, family Christmas, and dinner parties. Often they would go late into the night and Errol would have one hand on the stereo volume switch. The neighbours were nice to me but I think they weren’t all that happy with Errol.

Unfortunately the idyllic life was turned upside down. Daniel got very ill and needed to be hospitalised and then cared for and never came home, and Errol and Anne split. Paradise was over.

Cars

Errol was never much of a petrol head, but he did love his cars and he went through a good many. They were for a long time old bombs, particularly after the break up, but he did have two criteria that needed to be met. Firstly the car had to have some sort of style, and while this was not always possible, a good stereo made up for everything. I distinctly remember checking out cars with Errol he was looking to buy. He’d have a look over it and then we’d get in and turn on the music, usually loud.

When still at Summerhill road he had a white car, I don’t know what it was, but it had a stereo with one tape. Pink Floyd the Wall. He’d always play it full bore, especially when he picked me up from school Hey teachers Leave Them Kids Alone blaring. I loved it even if it was a bit embarrassing, stopping at shops while he leapt out to buy cigarettes for him and chocolates for me leaving the stereo running. Another car I remember was the Wolsely, in the Peel Street Windsor Days after the split. We’d always have to stop into a garage in Hawthorn for spare parts from a wrecked Wolsely being sold off in pieces. That car had a Linda Ronstandt tape; ‘Your so vain’ was played over and over again. He liked to play the same songs or albums on repeat, and loud

Music

Music was a big part of Errol’s life and he loved all types, from Alfred Deller the Counter Tenor, to the Stones, Neil Young, Muddy Waters, Pink Floyd, even the Beatles. We’d often play records together, and if I’d like one he’d say that it was mine.

We were lucky to see many concerts together in recent times, including Roy Ayers whose vocalist spotted Errol Dancing in the front row and pulled him back stage to meet Roy. They discussed Errol’s favourite saying, ‘Do what you’re doing while you’re doing it’, also a line of Roy's most famous song, ‘Everybody Loves The Sunshine’.

It was while Errol and Mandy were together that this saying of Errol was at it’s peak, and Cybelle, used to ask him to repeat it ‘Say the line Ezza’ to which he’d always cordially reply ‘If you’re doing what you do while you’re doing it, it’s OK’, Ezza’s meaning of life. We had the greatest nights with Mandy and Cybelle in South Melbourne. The soundtrack was The Travelling Wilburys (also known by Errol as The Travelling Blueberries).

At this time he was working at Backyard Press, a printing collaborative that specialised in independent writing, art and music printing and publishing. They also happened to be closely associated with a printer, George who had the biggest plate printing press in Melbourne, possibly Australia. Together, they would print all the Giant billboard posters for the touring rock bands, usually for promoters like Gudinski who Errol had met in the Spectrascope years. I had a room plastered with these iconic posters, and would receive tickets from Errol from time to time for concerts; Pink Floyd, Sting, INXS, Big Day Out.

In the 90’s, Errol took a summer holiday 3 years running at Rye. On the last of these Myf and I came to stay and Errol had found the Forrest Gump Soundtrack CD. We listened to San Francisco on repeat for a week. One night we went to bed while it was playing and woke to hear it still going.

The Saturday before he died, we bought tickets together to see Roger Waters play Pink Floyd. I went with Myf on Tuesday. We felt he was there with us, and loving it.

Art

Art was everything to Errol, and he knew art and art history deeply. He’d always wanted to be an artist, but at Summerhill road one day he burnt his entire folio. Also at this time he was trying to publish a book on Sidney Nolan, his first attempt. One day I answered the phone and it was Sidney, from London. We had a long chat before Errol asked me for the phone, and found out who it was. He always loved that Sidney took the time to talk to me for as long as he did.

After Backyard Press he started his own business, Oxford Street Printworks, then Australian Art Publishing. He worked for Australian Galleries and other prominent galleries, producing invitations, catalogues and folders for many of the most respected artists in the country.

At this time he transitioned from film production to computers, and I helped him. We spent hours in front of the screen, shifting type left right up down, moving layouts, adjusting fonts, kerning, leading, while he learnt the ropes of the new technology. It was an education that I couldn’t have got anywhere else, but I didn’t know it at the time, and never learnt the finer details. I often got exasperated with his endless search for perfection. But that’s what he did. He just knew fonts and typography inside out and he knew colour. He’d understand exactly what make up of colour was required to get the best possible result off the press, from any photograph or scan.

In these days he worked and partied hard (so much so that I was worried for him often). He loved every interaction with everyone from the gallery and every artist who walked in his door. The culmination of this work was the Jeffrey Smart book he did with Jenny when she came back to Melbourne in the late 90’s. When I spoke to Stuart Purves from the Australian Galleries last weekend, he credited Errol with starting his publishing house still running today

Our Dad

Errol was the best Dad ever. Dan and I always had such a great time with him. It may have been because we only saw him every couple of weeks after he and Anne separated and so it was all about being together, but I think it was more than that, he did light up our days. When he lived in Peel Street, we often didn’t do much and there were many mornings that Dan and I would be waiting hours for Errol to wake up. When he did though, there’d be fun, a cooked breakfast and then soon it’d be dinnertime, anything we wanted (well usually spag bol, curry, or we’d go out and get burgers or Italian). Then it was movies, music, chess and a fire in winter, and more fun. The house was so cold we needed a fire in summer some days too.

One morning Dan and I jumped the fence to go to the local park while Errol slept. After we played we jumped back over and watched some TV because Errol was still asleep. The next thing we heard a loud knocking at the door, then thumping footsteps. It was the police responding to a report from someone who had seen people jumping the fence. Errol had a rude awakening that day. We were still laughing about this recently.

When Myf become part of the family, even before we were married, he loved her and treated her like a daughter. Whenever I was not the best partner to Myf, working too hard or stressed and grumpy, Errol would always pull me up and take Myf’s side.

Last year the three of us went to see Van Gogh at the NGV. It was so packed you had to wait to see the pictures. And then people would take photos of the paintings endlessly pushing cameras in between us and the canvas. Errol decided we should take selfies of each other in front of the paintings to clear some space. It was a beautifully fun moment Myf and I had with our Dad.

Grandpa

After the heydays of Australian Art Publishing, he tried again to publish a Sidney Nolan book, and one on Wesley Stacey. During this time Harry was born and he was a happy grandpa, but working hard to achieve his big projects and he wasn’t around much. He finally reached a deal with a prominent publisher, only to find out the Nolan Estate had sold the rights to the images out from under his feet. That was the end of AAP, and Errol moved to Dromana with Andrea and David, who kindly looked after him while he got onto his feet again. He moved out and stayed in Dromana and in this time Akira was born. We didn’t see him that often, but when we bought our Palmer Street house and renovated he helped paint it, putting in many hours, days and weeks and staying with us while in Melbourne. We loved having him around. During this time Kipp was born.

Then he got what he called ‘The Big One’, cancer. Years of drinking and smoking finally caught up with him. The operation and treatment was traumatic and took its toll, and he moved to be near us in Preston. He fought hard though, and soon we had a recovering grandpa nearby. He’d regularly visit us and he loved his grandchildren. He helped us out whenever he could. Child-minding, the occasional school pick up and sports drop off. We were so lucky. And everytime he’d bring his wonderful sense of humour with him, never complaining, at least not much, and always happy to see the Scallywags. The boys loved his jokes and classy puns. Harry told me that one time Errol was watching him play cricket, he came over to them while they were eating rolls at the innings break after they’d taken a couple of quick wickets, and said to Harry ‘looks like you’re on a roll’. That was one of his favourite sayings. Harry told me the whole team burst out laughing.

My Friend

Apart from being the best Dad, Errol was my friend and supporter, but more than that I knew he loved me and I loved him. We’d have a great time together and had many shared interests, with the only exception being our football teams.  We’d even share our friends, over the years, particularly from the time he was with Mandy, but even much earlier. I’d love to be sitting up with whoever he had around with him and joining in their fun conversations and laughs. Likewise he always welcomed my friends, and recently made friends with many here today from the Westgarth community, enjoying record nights with us, and joining in with festivities.

The weekend before last we spent Saturday and Sunday restoring a table from the Summerhill Road days together as a present for Aunty Jenny in my Garden. Not quite the same mythical garden as he created, but still a serene place, and a special place he appreciated visiting. I feel so sad that I’ve lost my friend and father, and I’ll never see him again, but I’m glad that the last memory I have of him was in the garden.

Errol Beau Ellis

13 January 1946- 7 Feburary 2018

For Ben Cowen: 'The house is still too quiet, and the bed too big', Graveside Consecration, by wife Lahra Carey - 2018

11 February 2018, Melbourne, Australia

I don’t want to be here.

I had a sense that if I came, I would have to accept that this is all true- and that you are never coming back

I’ve spent the last year being brave, and strong, and good… and wondering – endlessly torturing myself with needing to know where you are…. But mostly – waiting for you to come back.

I haven’t squandered my time – I got on with things – cleaning up the mess that life became without you, and I have kept moving forward.

I stayed away from the huge hole in the middle of my life – I walked gingerly around it, careful not to look in too long or too hard lest I fall in.

At times, I let strangers into our life : hopelessness, pain, loneliness and despair. You wouldn’t like them. And managing them has taken up so much of my time, I don’t recognise myself anymore. They mostly visit in the early hours of the morning when I’m vulnerable and alone. And they are cunning.

They know how to surprise me with a familiar song, a scent of our life, a memory … I have learned to let the waves of pain roll over me – like an unexpected rip on a smooth sea. It doesn't last as long if I don’t put up a fight.

And fear came too – I never knew fear while you were nearby. Fear, it turns out is much more persistent than the others, and fear began to grow roots and permeate every aspect of my life, and those of the girls. What happened to you was so unthinkable it became reasonable to fear the plausible.

Given all of this – are you asking yourself how we are standing here today? How have we managed these 399 days and nights without you?

The answer is solely because of the friendship and love we have been handed in such abundance. From the practical, to the emotional – so many significant as well as small and unexpected gestures have been offered and delivered by our patient and thoughtful friends who haven’t waited to be asked.

Yes, your absence inspired an army to rise, and to keep the home fires burning and take care of your family whilst you are gone.

I have gotten to know your closest friends in a way I never would have if you were still here. And in a very bittersweet way, I have gotten to know you in new ways – and fallen more in love with you through the stories so many of your friends have shared with their outpouring of grief.

This whole year has been so humbling, and life changing. You would hardly recognise me today - I have had to let go of my fierce independence, and I have had to accept help. I’ve felt so overwhelmed at the incredible generosity of our friends and the community that has closed its ranks around us. I may have felt lonely, but I have never had to feel alone.

I have learned to say ‘thank you’… and then to not say it.

I have learned that some people are never used up, no matter how much, or how often I ask. I have learned that I will never be able to repay what I’ve received, but I will do all I can to carry it forward.

You wouldn’t be surprised that it was our children who gave me a reason to get up each day. You passed on to each of them your passion for life, your positivity and your sense of adventure, and this has been enormously helpful in managing the huge change in their lives.

We went to Africa – and you were there too… in the open skies and endless plains of the savannah – you were with us.

We worked hard to close the gap you left – but still to remain a connected, tight and loving family – It’s your energy and love that remains as a force-field surrounding us.

I’ve had to make so, so many decisions without you – all of them new and I’m uncertain so much of the time. But I learned so much from you- and I carry your voice in my head all the time.

I hear you mock my purchasing decisions at the supermarket, and I hear your proud praise when I’ve had a win at work. You still sit with me at the school musicals, and parent teacher nights – I even had our traditional fight at you being late – out loud – in my car. True story.

I feel you bursting with pride when you see the incredible success Shaf and Jason have made of Edison … in your memory, and with your spirit.

I see your surprise when I head out for dinner with Brett… or to coffee with Mong, and a regular chat with Horus. But I know you understand. I need these connections with your friends – they keep me close to you

The house is still too quiet, and the bed too big. I still can’t face taking your towel down from its place in the bathroom, or put away the book you were reading from your bedside table. I need these small connections to you and our intimacy.

I still say ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, and ‘our’ instead of ‘my’. If it’s ok with you, I will hang onto these small entitlements of our marriage for a little longer.

Undoubtedly, the legacy of your life was the lesson of human connectedness. Your impact on people was so deep, and so long-lasting. I’ve had emails and letters and calls from people I’ve never met- whose lives you impacted permanently many years ago. These connections were due in no small part to your philosophy of doing what you loved, nurturing the friendships you made, and using both hands to take hold of each opportunity life threw your way.  

The kids get this. And they get the credit for reintroducing terms like “looking forward to” and “excited about” into our lives. Discarding your legacy of adventure was not an option. Without you, they are a force to be reckoned with, and I feel your immense pride at how they have managed the past year – refusing to remember you with grief. They are the ones who insisted on celebrating your life this afternoon – telling the stories you would have loved to hear retold, and associating the name Ben Cowen with a smile.

I will need to apologise to them later for my sad words here today, but I have come to accept that the grief will follow me for as long as it needs to, and the kids understand.

All of us here today need to move forward and try to live the legacy of your life. Perhaps this means acknowledging the fragility of life by loving harder, cherishing friendships more deeply, doing what we love, and incorporating adventure into our lives.

The kids have had enough sadness. They have implored me to throw myself back into life – to rediscover the parts of me they recognise, and to start letting go of the pain. They want to look forward, and they don’t want their father’s death to mark the end of a happy childhood. It’s a fair ask – and one I am determined to fulfil.

Thank you all for a year of love and support – I know it’s been so hard for you too.

This morning – we are here to accept the truth. He is gone, and he’s never coming back.

But this afternoon, we will share the funny stories, the poignant memories and the happy moments.

And there’s no better way to keep the legend of Ben Cowen alive.

"Forever the CLAMB" in photo above is reference to the way Ben used to refer to his family- as the “CLAMB” – for Charley, Lahra, Alex, Mitch and Ben."

Lahra also delivered the eulogy at Ben's funeral. It is an unforgettable speech

"My husband had a magical cape. He would wear it with arms outstretched as he walked around, and into it he would sweep anyone in his path, bewitching them with a kind of intoxicating power that would make us believe he was heroic, invincible and capable of anything.

for Vivian Rippy: 'The only way to get hurt in this life is to care', by Chirstopher Eckes - 2017

Harriosn, Ohio, USA

It’s the little things that seem to stand out the most—her rolled up Kleenexes, her colorful muumuus, her iced tea and fried chicken, the aroma of her kitchen or a “yoo-hoo” from the other side of the door letting you know it was all right to come in.

I’ll remember her tapping her foot to Lawrence Welk or cheering for Johnny Bench (her favorite ball player). There are so many things that I can see and feel as if they had just happened.

I’m sure everyone here has memories much like mine. They are good memories, something we’ll always have to cherish. It isn’t often in our lives that we come across someone so special that that person stays with you forever. Grandma was that kind of person.

The only way to get hurt in this life is to care. Grandma cared more than most, loved more than most and was made to suffer more than most because of just how much she cared.

But no matter how many times she was knocked down or made to endure things that no one should, she just kept coming back; caring more and loving more—opening herself up to even more pain. Yet there were never any complaints or bitterness—it was the only way she knew how to live.

The kind of love Grandma felt for us was a love without condition. She may not have approved of everything we did, may not have liked some of the decisions we made, but she didn’t lecture, she didn’t judge. She just kept loving us, letting us know that she was there and if we ever needed her, we could count on her to listen, to comfort, to help.

She lived a simple life. It didn’t take much to make her happy—a phone call, a card, a visit or a kiss before saying good night. We were the most important people in the world to her. She lived to make our lives better and was proud of us.

To think that someone like her felt that way about us should make us all feel more than just a little good. We can never forget that there is a part of her in each of us, something that she gave to us and asked nothing for in return.

Money can be squandered and property ruined, but what we inherited from her cannot be damaged, destroyed or lost. It is permanent, and it keeps her from becoming just a wonderful memory. It allows her in so many ways to remain just as alive as always—alive through us.

There have been and will be times in our lives when situations arise where we’ll want so much to talk to her, be with her or ask her just what we should do. I hope that, when those times come, we can begin to look to each other and find that part of her that she gave to each of us.

Maybe we can learn to lean on each other and rely on each other the way we always knew that we could with her. Maybe then she won’t seem quite so far away.

So, for your wisdom, your humor, tenderness and compassion, your understanding, your patience and your love; thank you, Grandma. After you, Grandma, the mold was indeed broken. Thank you so much. I love you.

For Peter Lehmann: 'A proper fair dinkum bloke, South Australian to the core', by Adam Lehmann - 2017

27 November 2017, Adelaide, South Australia, Australia

Hello everyone, Thank you for coming, It means allot to Dad and Mum, Bruce and I knowing that each of you were here for him, and, for each other.

As we are here to farewell Dad, I would like to do so with a few tales for us to remember him by, tales that go the essence of who he was. As he would say, spin a yarn or two.

Dad had a love of the outdoors, and in particular the water. Ocean, River, pond or dam, he loved to be at the edge fishing, crabbing, yabbying, or simply enjoying the sunrise. Who can remember his many trips along the Spencer Gulf crabbing with rakes? Wading miles out the tidal flats waist deep in water, knee deep in black mud and sea grass, poking and prodding for those tasty blue swimmers? Yet coming back with a butchers tub full of the freshest the ocean had to offer. This is the kind of thing that loved.

He lived for a while at St Kilda, with Uncle Bill. Fond of the Bachelor life, he would fish daily and celebrate the catch with a daily drink. Some days, no fish, and no money to ease the pain of the ones that got away. So with his guitar that can best be described as only having 2 and half strings, the pair hatched a plan and wandered into the Local hotel He began to “play”, It might be a stretch to call it music but it was noise anyway. And Bill, his all too often partner in such antics, began warbling a song to the amusement of onlookers. The Publican, alerted to this commotion, politely asked these men what they were doing? “Why,Busking Sir, we hope to earn a drink by the end of the night”. The publican, having had enough already, and knowing full well how determined and serious they were, simply gave in without a fight, handing them a Carton of beer and subsequently evicted them with less than pleasant words. Mission accomplished.

Of course things did not always go as planned. Having an adventurous spirit, and the physical strength to cope with obstacles thrown in his way, he was boating along the Murray river, With Mum and Uncle Norman, back in days when mobile phones were the exclusive domain of TV shows. Late in the evening, Trawling up the river, in an old small wooden dinghy, sourced from who knows where for who knows what favors; when, the transom, the wall of the dingy the small motor was mounted to, simply fell off. A stunned crew was seconds from disaster! Instantly, Dad grabbed the still running engine, using only his strength, held the motor and wall onto the now crippled boat. For what I am sure felt like a lifetime, they managed to make landfall. Once ashore, far from their intended destination, a cold night was spent on the banks of the River Murray by all. Where his strength came from to hold that engine who knows? But Mum was 7 months pregnant with me at the time. 

Sometimes things happen to dad without explanation - a mystery by any measure. For Example, one of the Family holidays to the Eyre Peninsula, standing on windy Jetties hunting those elusive Whiting but settling for Tommies, Squid jags at the ready, Our family had suffered through poor weather and the catch had been lean. My brother, very young at the time, and excited by the thoughts of catching a fish, was upset because he hadn’t caught anything for all his efforts and early morning sacrifices. Dad wanting to remedy the problem, decided to go for one last fish, stopping at some random lonely beach on the drive home. We set up, and while Bruce was distracted, Dad put one of our older and quite dead catches from the previous day on the hook, and cast it out as far as he could. As soon as it hit the surf Dad started fighting the rod and called Bruce over “Bruce Bruce” he exclaimed - “There’s one on Reel it in”! So Bruce does and as it comes out the surf, are two silvery fish, a double header, both wriggling as only alive fish do. I don’t know who was more surprised - Me, Dad or Mum, But it felt like only a divine intervention could provide such a miracle, and made for a much easier drive home.

Dad was very tall, broad and strong, an imposing figure to all. Some would underestimate his power and strength at their peril. At a Father and Son Boy Scout camp on the Murray, the Traditional Canoe race across the river was held on the final day. However The double seated kayaks were short and snug, and the only one dad could possibly fit was troublesome unit known as the “purple dart” which had an awkward keel that caused it behave like a wayward shopping trolley - always veering to the left. We were considered at best, an outside chance to finish last , if we finished at all. Off we took from the start line and dad was digging deep, I’m sure I was nothing more than ballast but half way across we were near the leaders. Once over he used our awkward keel to our advantage executing a tremendously fast left turn. Off again digging deep. I realised before long we were in the lead, and as I looked back at the frantic faces of the runner ups, I saw dad was basically paddling on the Left side only, countering that damned keel. We won with one hand virtually tied behind his back. I saw a look on the other dads faces that is hard to describe, but if it had a word it would be respect.

As he grew older, his passion for the sea or river never waned, he would often drive out to St Kilda early in the morning to watch the sun rise and the fishing boats go out for the day. I’m sure he wanted to go with them. But he didn’t let age and ailment stop him from trying to get a free feed. So on a hot Summer Sunday morning, with Bruce and Andy, they made their way to Morgan with yabbie nets, fueled by memories of their youth and a few bevvies to boot. These days, access to the river is tightly controlled, but Dad, not one to observe signs, directed the driver of his brand new car, off the road, over the earthwork boundary, and across the flats to the river. The New car inevitably got bogged . So while Bruce tried in vain to get them mobile again - with no tools or help, Dad and Andy figured no better time to throw the yabby nets in the river, after all they had come such a long way, cars can wait. Well, Later that day I did a rescue run to Morgan, and I can still remember 2 sheepish faces in the back seat that had to listen to my teasing banter all the way home - the price of my rescue. The car though took a week to find someone brave enough to recover from the mudflat. However, those precious yabby nets had been safely stowed in the boot for their next adventure, unfortunately , along with the some very spoiled bait. The stink is legendary, the now not so new car had to be left in a field for a week to air out before anyone would go near enough to attempt to clean it. Like a trooper, Dad drove it home, “I don’t know what your all complaining about” he said, with all four windows wide open. His pride beaten, but not broken. His Last trip to the river was memorable indeed.

But that was dad. A simple man with simple needs in an ever increasingly complicated world. He would help anyone if he could, even though you had to earn it sometimes. I can see him now relaxed at his kitchen table, Its almost sunrise, his little spot, AM radio playing in the background  with the constant chatter of like minded people, reading his newspaper and doing his daily puzzles, watching the world pass by his window “what do you need television for when I have this” he would say, motioning to the window. Photos of family and other memories, lovingly hung on the walls around him, In his final days, I know we were in his thoughts.

A proper fair dinkum Bloke, South Australian to the core. A Proud Barossan, A Builder, Crows fan, A Soldier, Brother, Father, Father in law, Grandfather (to Hamish), Husband and Friend. A Fisherman and a Gardener. These are the stories I offer to you to remember him by.

In remembrance life is immortal.

Thank you.

Lest we forget.

for Kathleen Darley: 'Mum joins Dad in heaven today and I am sure there weren’t any stops on the way', by son Gerald Darley - 2016

November 2016, Adelaide, South Australia

Welcome to the celebration of Mum's life. And what an inspiration she was to us all and so very special.

Mum reaching the wonderful age of 98 years, and what a marvelous achievement this has been. One of my old football mates from Melbourne Ted Sheehan said, “well she beat Don Bradman he only made it to 92”.

Mum joins Dad in heaven today and I am sure there weren’t any stops on the way and Dad would be looking forward this Saturday morning to mum cooking the breakfast he loved so much in The Crystal Brook days........ Lambs Fry & Bacon.

John & I said to not worry about sending any leftovers down.

All of our families are here in support of the celebration. John & Gill produced two beautiful girls in Danielle & Simone, and Sandra & I produced two beautiful boys in Brad & David. Craig & Simone produced two beautiful great grandchildren for mum & dad in Spencer and Adelaide Gillian. Mum loved her family dearly and we saw her as being a permanent shining light in our lives.

Our loyal family friend for over 50 years, Len Loechel is also considered one of the family, Dad and Mum always looked upon Len as being the third son. And Jeff Powell has been a long time family friend as well.

Dad was one of 8 in his family at Narridy (3 boys and 5 girls ), and Mum was one of 8 in her family down on the Cattle Track at Crystal Brook ( 3 boys and 5 girls ) . Her brothers Tom , Phil and Jay, and sisters  Agnes, Mary, Eileen ( A Good Samaritan nun), Winnie and mum. Mum was so proud to have her sister Eileen a Good Samaritan Nun and there was a very special bond between them .                                                                                                                                                           Mum also had two nieces who became Convent of Mercy Nuns, Catherine Weatherald (dec’d) and her sister Josephine Weatherald. Mum was equally proud of them also.

Kathleen Veronica O’Loughlin was born in Jamestown on 14 February 1918 (St Valentine’s Day) and after finishing school at the Catholic Convent at Crystal Brook aged 14yrs, she worked at her Aunty Nora Freeman’s hotel in Wilmington for 3 years..... Then back to Crystal Brook working as a house maid at the  Brook Hotel, and then a clerk the local Post office with Mr Ahern.

Mum loved her Irish heritage, her grandparents originally came from County Cork in Ireland, and her parents were Thomas (Snr) and Agnes (Snr). Unfortunately, her mother was only 50yrs old when she passed away suddenly after a short illness, so the family had to grow up quickly as many had to in those days. Mum’s father Thomas Snr, was a farmer and a drover.

Mum was well known for her Irish dancing on St Patrick's Day at Crystal Brook, including her famous Irish Jig, The Highland Fling and The Sailors Hornpipe. Mum also won a major Waltzing competition at the annual Crystal Brook Ball when she was 19 years of age. And she also played the Violin in a joint performance with Kev Kelly.

Dad sent money home when he was in the 2nd world war in the Middle East, to his brother Uncle Rex Darley, and asked that he, Auntie Marj and Auntie Mavis buy an engagement ring for Kathleen. Mum and Dad were married at St Mark’s Pt Pirie on 13th March 1943, and so the story began.

In my very early years of growing up in Crystal Brook, there are a couple of situations with mum that I can recall. Firstly as a little boy I use to suck my thumb, and I would be sitting on  mum’s lap and she would be singing to me The Irish Lullaby “ TOORA LOORA LOORA” , and  that changed to ‘Dance with the Dolly’ for the grandchildren,.AND I can also remember Mum would have John and myself on her bike, one on the front and one on the back, peddling us both up to School or Mass ,  and we would both be yelling out to her to go faster.

Also one morning in those early years, Mum sent John down to “Matthews Bakery” when he was about 12yrs old to buy a loaf of freshly baked bread ,sandwich loaf, unsliced as it was in those days. On the way back home John started picking and nibbling at the open-end centre of the warm bread and by the time he got home, you could see large hole right through the middle of the bread...... Poor Mum had to make dad’s lunch sandwiches that night from of the outside crusts of the bread. Not happy Kath and not happy Roy.

Mum had such wonderful great faith, and never once did she impose her religious beliefs on anyone. She did not have to, everyone knew she was special. She had a number of holy pictures around her at The Nursing Home and her favourite Saint was Mary Mackillop.  

Mum was able to take things in her stride and lived by the philosophy, you can’t change the past and never carry regrets and the way you live today creates the path for the future. She was rock solid on that and lived by that right throughout her life. Mum also had a gift in that she was  mentally ‘strong as’,  and never thrown off guard. Her energy and language was full of love, respect and always dignified.

When John & I were about 12 and 13 we had taken a liking to Condensed Milk and we knew mum had a book no.161 at Eudunda Farmers to make small purchases. Up we go to the Counter  “Two tins of Condensed Milk thanks Mr Lambert”, well Mr Lambert knew we were up and coming young footballers in the Junior Colts and he did not have the heart to knock us back.

We would get half way home , in front of the wheat stacks , a rusty old nail and a hole in both ends, and down goes the Condensed Milk, we would feel sick in the tummy for the rest of the day. We did that two or three times during the month, and Mr Lambert went along with us, as he was looking at the future opportunities of the Crystal Brook Football club.

Then Mum gets her monthly account from Eudunda Farmers -that was the end of the condensed milk - but John, Len and I played in up to three “A grade” premierships with Crystal Brook 1962, 1963 and 1964 . So all I can say is that Mr Lambert’s efforts did not go unrewarded.

Kathy did enjoy glass of  beer on a hot summer’s night at the Brook or when Uncle Tom O’Loughlin came over for a Sunday night’s baked Dinner. She would say that the beer had to be really cold and it would........ “ tickle all the way down”.

Mum was always there for Dad and the family, through the highs and lows of daily life. Always self assuring, calm and gentle, I think you have to be when you live with a Darley, in a male dominated household such as ours was. But when she waved that finger, we quickly stood to attention, even Dad, and she meant business.

Mum was comfortable with a simple life and did not want the best of everything, but the way she lived she made the best of everything. And Gratitude as such can easily be referred to as a shortcut to happiness.

Kathleen was radiant and had an aura about her, and when she walked into a crowded room with that beautiful smile, it was infectious, full of warmth and everyone noticed her. Always positive in her conversations with family and friends, and always re assuring in her language , we all loved her and wanted to be in her presence. Mum always found the good side in people, no matter who they were, and always made those she met feel special about themselves, a rare quality indeed .

Mum worked casually at Kev and Marnie Jones “Shell Roadhouse” in the Cafe at the Brook for a few years with Pat O’Dea, Nell Sedgeman & Vera Keech. Mum and Dad always held a high regard for Kev and Marnie Jones.

Mum especially loved working at social functions to support the local RSL , The Football Club, Catholic School and especially the children’s Orphanage at Crystal Brook. One of those functions supporting the Orphanage being The Annual Strawberry fete which was a special  event, with Pat Fenech controlling the Strawberries and Icecream, and who could forget Dorrie Higgins mouth watering cream puffs or the famous Kath Darley scones and didn’t we love them.

She was joined with some of her long time friends working year after year at the annual fete and I am sure she would love to have some of them recognised: Mrs Curtin, Mrs Dee, Madge Slattery, Maunie Carmody, Joan O’Callaghan, Bub O’Shaughnessy, Mollie Kerin , Auntie Mary O’Connell, poor old Madge Cox, Meg and Pauline Curtin, ‘Little’ Marj Head and ‘Tall’ Marj Head as mum would say, and she never forgot the two Mrs Hickey’s, who were great workers for the school.

There were some other very special workers that mum had great admiration for, the local Catholic nuns who ran the school, the convent and cared for a number of children at The Orphanage at any one time. Sister Sabina, Sister Bede, Sister Patrick and Sister Ethelreda to name a few.

These nuns were high achievers often under trying conditions. Nothing for themselves, just 100% GIVE of themselves, long hours... 7 days a week, 365 days a year.......... So if this is an opportunity for a public acclamation of all the Catholic Nuns at Crystal Brook, including mum’s sister, Sister Pauline ,in recognition of the hard work for the many years at The School, The Convent and The Orphanage, then it is so richly deserved. Mum would love to hear that.

Mum had a special place in her heart for Warrigul , Pauline and Neal, down on The Cattle Track with Uncle Dan and Aunty Mary.

Mum’s song was Danny Boy, she loved it and sang it.......   If John & I weren’t kicking the football on the dusty road, we were playing cricket up our driveway with Gary, Boxer (dec’d ) and Bruie, and over the years mum loved to hear the song which was sung and composed by Greg Champion titled, “I made a hundred in the backyard at mums”. It was very special to her and she would often hum the tune.

 There was also another well known Australian song that mum found inspirational. It reminded her of her brothers Tom ,Phil and Jay running out onto the football field, it reminded her of John, Len, Craig and myself, and her nephews (Peter, Gus and Jeff) running onto the ground. That song was called “UP THERE CAZALY”. It was the full package for mum and she re-lived the wonderful memories of those years each time she heard the song.

Mum was able to cope with every situation, good and bad, always with a most peaceful approach and displaying empathy when needed and she had the ability to put people at ease in an instant.  All of these qualities appeared to come effortlessly to her, just a wonderful  gift she had. Mum would feel quite embarrassed  about me saying these words about her but quite humbled also. 

 I was reading a quote recently which said “That People will forget what you said and People will forget what you did. But People never forget how you made them feel”.                                                                

Mum supported John and I right to the end, never faltering with her love for all the family , her grandchildren and great grandchildren and she loved them dearly, and it is great to have our own doctor in the family ...“we keep costs under control.”

Quintessentially speaking, our family saw mum as a perfect example of someone who demonstrated, clearly demonstrated that true happiness is all about giving and comes from within.

Dad was a little lost when they arrived at the Nursing Home at Grange in Nov 2009 and they were in separate beds in the one room , and after the first few nights, Dad said to mum in his aging voice “I think you had better come over here and get into bed with me tonight Kath”, 

Mum told dad to go back to sleep.

Mum loved the ‘AngliCare’ Nursing Home at Grange and all the staff. The dedicated and exceptional care that she received from the staff at the Nursing Home was out of this world. It gave the family peace of mind, knowing she was in great hands. It was just the best.

Special thanks also to our long time family friend Theresa Hamer from Canberra who mum and dad thought the world of. And Jim Rice and Angus Tully also from Canberra, have been a long time family friends as well.

Special thanks to Father Rate and also Kay Clements a local parishioner who every Tuesday morning, week after week, took Holy Communion to mum at the Nursing Home. Greatly appreciated Kay.

The staff at “Blackwell’s Funerals” have been meticulous in handling all the details for today. Well done.

John, Sandra, Danielle ,Simone , Craig, Brad and David have produced some special magic in delivering for today. It has been one outstanding team performance. John visited mum at  the Nursing home 3 times a week , every week for 7 years without fail. He was the Anchor for mum and the Anchor for the family. Outstanding.

We think that Kathleen Veronica Darley (nee O’Loughlin) was a work of art, and has her place in history at the highest level. She loved being an O’Loughlin and loved being a Darley just as much.

On behalf of the family thank you all for standing alongside us today. A special mention to all those who have travelled long distances to be here also.

Mum passing away peacefully at the Nursing Home at the wonderful age of 98 is not tragic, it’s natural.

Mum and Dad built a family home which was full of Love, Pride,  Energy, Responsibility and Respect.

And so finally, when you are all back at home tonight having a drink with your family, think of Mum and I am sure that it will  “Tickle all the way down”.      

for Timothy Trant Martyn: 'Our lives are but a gentle wind that quickly passes', by Brendan Sheehan - 2017

23 December 2017, Melbourne, Australia

It’s said that our lives are but a gentle wind that quickly passes. But in passing, a wind touches all in its path. And so it was with Tim’s life: in some way he touched all of us here today, and many others beside. 

I once remarked to his mum that Tim struck me as the Kennedy of the family: • Absurdly good looking • Smart • And infused with an ethos of public service. An ethos of public service is a fine thing in a person, showing an underlying quality of generosity. Everyone today in their remarks have referred in some way to the spirit of generosity that characterised Tim. He was generous in his personal relations with other people and with that he was gentle and humourous, which is not at all to say soft.

This generosity was evident, of course, in his working life, where his commitment was to social justice. We’ve heard today of his time at Jesuit Social Services and then for the UN Food and Agricultural Organisation, particularly in the South Pacific but also Africa. Robert Kennedy said that some men see things as they are and ask “why?’. But I dream of things that never were and ask “why not?”

Looking at Tim’s life, you can see that see that Tim asked a further indispensable question: How? In addressing the how question, Tim brought an invaluable quality to the table. His whip smart sister Melissa described Tim as being whip smart. Let’s call it “curiosity”. Tim was curious about the world around him.

You can see on his Facebook posts his curiosity about the natural world and, indeed, his wonderment. And he was both curious and questioning about the interaction of people and the way life works. He recognised that, outside the privileged enclave of the Western world, the way the world works is pretty harsh. By any measure, Tim would be regarded as socially and politically progressive. Mick, his grandad, his Sopa, would have been proud of this. But equally Mick would have been proud of Tim’s open mind, his practical bent.

Tim didn’t blindly accept nostrums: he would actively play the devil’s advocate to test both his own understanding and that of the person he was talking with. I have to admit that was a bit annoying – he was always so damned reasonable about it. So Tim wasn’t a slave to any particular ideology, unless you classify “commitment to social justice” as ideology. Tim recognised that there are gradations in every social situation and that perceptions need to be so filtered, responses need to be nuanced and appropriate to the situation.

In particular, he understood cultural context: the way we perceive property, wealth, income and their apportionment is not the way, say, Fijians see these things. Let’s just say that Tim was committed to both empowering the communities he worked in and with, and to achieving a better and fairer economic distribution for the labour of these communities.

Tim was fortunate in his early life. Ro and Gavin provided a loving and caring environment and imbued in Tim the values and qualities which we are commemorating today. The Sheehan-Martyn family, the Martyn-Sheehan family – Ro and Gavin – have an extraordinary conception of and commitment to family. That was of such benefit to Tim growing up and carried over into Tim’s adult life.

Tim was a big personality and he needed in his life an equally big personality to sustain him. He found that person in Sarah – and I assume that it worked the other way: Tim sustained Sarah. Tim and Sarah created a life together and then came Sizzy. There’s no way that words can capture or portray that love Tim had for Sizzy. To you Sarah, I say you were born and remain a Gwonyama but when you married Tim, you became also a member of the Martyn family…and by association so too of the Sheehans and Lowreys. You’re one of us Sarah, always know that and make sure Sizzy understands that as he grows up.

A couple of years ago Tim took this photo of a sunset over the ocean, off Broome.

It’s a unique moment in time, as seen and captured by Tim, but the moment has passed by, like a gentle wind. The photo put me in mind of a line from the Buddhist Heart Sutra:

gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate …gone, gone, gone to the further shore, gone completely to the further shore.

Tim has gone from us to the further shore. It is profoundly sad that we won’t feel again the gentle wind that was Tim’s life among us. But just as Tim’s photo captured a unique moment in time, our minds carry our memories of Tim’s unique life and our hearts carry continuing love for him.

So it is. Requiescat in Pace

Timothy Trant Martyn 23 February 1979 - 12 December 2017

Cathleen (Sue) Lawrence: 'Underneath there was one tough cookie', by Ray Wilson - 2017

Ray Wilson delivers eulogy in Wangaratta for sister Sue Lawrence. 14 July 2017. Published on Speakola.com

14 August 2017, Wangaratta, Victoria, Australia

Most of what I will deliver today was prepared by Sue’s son Neville. Neville, her daughters in law Roslynne and Janine, her six grandchildren and her 13 great grandchildren have been the centre of Sue’s life. They have all done a wonderful job in looking after her in recent years. But Neville thought speaking today was one last job that would be a bit too hard for him. So sit back brother, I’m honoured to step in.

Cathleen Lesley Wilson was born in 1924 in the Melbourne suburb of Murrumbeena, the first of 10 children of Leslie Wilson. a returned serviceman from WW1, and Millie Morton. It is not known why she was always called Sue not Cathleen, but nicknames became a family habit. Next born child David was only ever called Mickey, and third child Les is known as Dolly.

Sue’s life was long, fruitful, and with periods of joy and happiness. But by any measure it contained more hardship and setbacks than was her fair share. That she never showed the scars of them to any of us, her family and friends, is in itself a remarkable tribute to her strength of character.

The first of these setbacks came when Les Wilson lost his job in the Great Depression and he and Millie lost the house they were buying. It started a series of forced house moves for the next 15 years. Sue started school at Port Melbourne Primary, shortly after moving to Kensington Primary. By then sister Rosie had arrived, with Leila, always called Bubby, to follow soon after.

Dolly, who I’m pleased is hale and hearty and here today, recalls their walk to school being considerably shorter if they cut through the Newmarket Cattle Saleyards, which were off limits for children. This fact was frequently explained to the trespassers and in the colourful language of the saleyards, but with no effect. The Wilson kids toughened up quickly, but always under the protective wing of big sister Sue.

Even paying the rent at Kensington was beyond the parents means, and the family moved next to Koo Wee Rup. It was then a small country hamlet, not as now on the fringe of the Melbourne metropolis. There child number six Robert was added. Les and Millie were clearly below par with his label, just settling on Bobby. However they returned to form with Vera, coming up with Tuppy as her moniker.

By now Sue was in full swing as the big sister. She safely ushered her brood to and from school, which when another move was made to nearby Monomeath, involved a three mile walk there and back along the railway line. Once again her vocabulary was improved by the railway workers they occasionally encountered who advised them to use the road. No chance of that, Sue with her mathematics knowledge knew the shortest way between two points is a straight line.

Maths wasn’t her only academic talent. She was smart enough to win a Commonwealth scholarship, and attended Dandenong High, taking Mickey every day by train. I’m told there is a plaque at the Koo Wee Rup school with her and Mickey’s names on it.

After three years at Dandenong High they were on the move again to Moonee Ponds, where Sue completed year 11, the old Leaving Certificate,  at Essendon High School. In the 1930’s that was considered quite an achievement for a female.

Sue often joked about her inability at the creative arts. At Essendon she was hopeless at sewing, music and art, so was thrilled to be asked to be in the end of year performance, only to be told she was on the door selling tickets because “you are good with money and numbers”.

Take a moment to think about what opportunities her academic ability would have afforded her had she been born two generations later. Certainly good enough to get a university degree, she would have had a wide range of careers from which to choose. But the attitudes of the time and the tough family economic circumstances saw her commence work as a secretary and bookkeeper. She would have been a very, very good one.

The next move, and thankfully the last for Les and Millie, was to a Housing Commission house in Preston. They had run out of inspiration for Maxine and Noelle’s naming, they just were Maxine and Noelle. I brought up the rear, and I think with Bobby’s help I became Mort, named after Mortein, because I was considered to be a pest. So unfair, particularly as Dolly had been named after a brand of chocolates, Dolly Varden.

While the teenage Sue was still running the show, she added on a new focus of attention. She had met a young Koo Wee Rup native when living there, a fella named Allen Burgan, who only ever answered to Ginner (more bloody nicknames). Dolly says Ginner stayed a short while at Preston while looking for work in Melbourne, and his and Sue’s relationship blossomed into something stronger. It was unfortunately interrupted by Ginner serving in New Guinea in WW2. On his return they married in 1946 and their first child Alan was born in 1947, followed 18 months later by Neville. All four of them lived with the eleven Wilsons in the small three bedroomed house which also had an outdoor sleep-out until the army allocated them a place at Camp Pell. Camp Pell was a village of army huts at Parkville adjoining the zoo. Today it is parkland, with no sign of a makeshift village similar to the refugee camps we see on television today.

In September 1949 brother Mickey, who had joined the Air Force at 18, was lost at sea while in a training flight over Bass Straight. The front page of the Melbourne Herald recorded the family’s anguish, made worse as he had been to Melbourne two days before to see his young wife who was still in hospital with their first child. The following year Millie had a stroke which rendered her an invalid for the rest of her life. These two events probably catapulted Sue into being the official head of the Wilson family, while also managing her own family with Ginner.

It’s impossible to over-emphasise her devotion to looking after others. It was a lifelong calling, she was an Olympic medallist at it. She was the one who kept up the contact with telephone calls when her siblings moved all over Australia, she never forgot a birthday, she was always there to comfort and advise but rarely to burden others with any troubles she had.

In fairness though, she did find it hard to give the role up. Earlier this year, when ringing her baby sister Noelle and getting the message machine, Sue opened the conversation the next day with “where were you last night?”, and saying Noelle should not be out on her own. Another night she rang four times on the hour, the last saying she was sending out a search party to find her. Noelle is 76, a widow with four kids and several grandkids.

Back to the narrative. The Housing Commission was building rapidly to accommodate the returned soldiers, and the Burgans were allocated a two bedroom brick house in West Heidelberg. Life was sweet and Ginner set about making their house the best in the neighbourhood. He was a terrific worker.

Soon after, probably about 1952 or 1953, Sue gained employment with the Education Department. After completing “on the job” training she commenced at North Heidelberg Primary, always teaching infant grades. It became Olympic Village Primary in 1956 when the Games Village was built on the school boundary.

This was a tough area but Sue loved it and stayed more than 20 years. She continued studying for higher qualifications allowing her to gain senior positions at Banyule and later McLeod primary schools

In 1970 Sue’s life was again thrown into turmoil when Ginner died at the unthinkable early age of 47. As with other setbacks she collected herself and carried on. She continued teaching and finally retired at the age of 60.

She now had time to spare and so decided to work on her weaknesses. She had earlier completed a short dressmaking class and became interested in ballroom dancing. However the dressmaking class didn’t achieve its intended goal, as most alterations landed on the doorstep of daughter-in-law Roslynne.

It was a time for Sue to enjoy her growing number of grandkids, and she made several trips to Disneyland and Hong Kong with them. She loved having the kids stay over and the kids loved it even more. Grandma really knew how to spoil and entertain grandkids.

It was time to also put the dancing lessons to work, and Sue, often visiting Wangaratta where Alan and Neville and their wives had a growing business, started to attend the country dances. It was at the Wangaratta CWA that Sue met George Lawrance, a Public Works inspector, who was about to retire. Their friendship grew and they married in 1984, and settled in a house in Franklin St Wangaratta. They enjoyed outback touring and camping, although by age 70 Sue said roughing it was no longer her forte.

They were energetic members of Wangaratta Lions where George served as President and Sue was elected Lady President. She was still the leader, the organiser, the giver to others. George and Sue made lasting friends at Lions, some of whom are present today.

Sue also was a member of the Ex Teachers Club, staying involved until well into her eighties. She volunteered as a reader at “Chronicle for the Blind”, and both she and George spent years delivering Meals on Wheels.

Possibly Sue’s greatest disappointment in life occurred in 2001 when her older son Alan succumbed to cancer. They had been very close and his passing hit her hard. You wonder if a parent is ever the same after losing a child. She battled on, beat her own breast cancer and then had to cope when George was found to have throat cancer. He passed away in 2015.

 Sue was that wonderful blend of kindness and softness, and we shouldn’t forget that she was genuinely funny. Not with well told long stories or remembered jokes, but with lightning fast quips and razor sharp put downs, which she was still delivering in her nineties. It’s annoying when a 92 year old is funnier than you?

But underneath was one tough cookie. She wanted to remain in her own house, and did for a while courtesy of loving visits multiple times in the day from her family here in Wang. On behalf of those of us in her family who live far away, who did so little, I want to publicly thank you all for looking after our big sister, as well as she had looked after us over so many years, and as she so deserved to be looked after.

In autumn last year, and in the autumn of her years, she performed perhaps her last great act of unselfishness. She had both a fall and a kidney infection and was in Wangaratta Hospital. Although she would have really wanted to return home she knew that she would be putting extra burden and unreasonable responsibility on her family, and so she readily agreed to go to St John’s Village. Class act at age 91

But happily, Sue found St John’s “not so bad after all” In no time she was presiding over the communal meals from the head of the largest table. She won the hearts of all the staff who attended to her. They have remarked on her humour and agree she will be sadly missed.

I will finish with these exact words of Neville, of Roslynne and Janine, of grandchildren Michelle, Jodie, Nicky, Justine, Brad and Sarah, and of her 13 great grandchildren.

We would like to tell you about our amazing Mum, Mother-in-law, Grandma, Great Grandma Sue, and big sister. She was generous with her time and money and always prepared to help others. She was proud of us, her offspring, and followed our scholastic and sporting endeavours enthusiastically.

She always said her two daughters-in-law were more like her daughters.

She was a mother who made us proud.

She was always well groomed, kept a very welcoming house and made our friends feel immediately welcome.

She was supportive and always there if we were in trouble

She was simply a special mum.

Sue lived a wonderful life and she died the way she had wished for.

A great innings from our most valuable player.

 We will always love her.

For Sally Crisp: 'A life bloody well lived', by son Angus - 2016

8 October 2016, The Boulevarde, Kew, Melbourne, Australia

On 2nd July 1939 Sally Gillian Leighton was born in Tientsin, China to expat Brits Edgar and Madeliene Leighton.  All of our lives, in some way shape or form, were impacted by this event.  It was world changing.  A shock of black hair apparently.  Standing straight up all over her head, soon to be replaced with those fair curls we all knew so well.  Young Sally certainly had an interesting start to her life. Indeed her entire life. A planned holiday to Australia at age 2 1/2 when World War 2 was in its infancy. Japanese tensions were high though and resulted in Mum, her mother, father and brother Tim being blocked from leaving Hong Kong Harbor via ship, when Pearl Harbour was bombed by the Japanese.  Interned in a Prisoner of War camp for three years, repatriated after the war and sent back to England, once again moved to China in 1947 to reclaim the family home, prior to finally making the planned journey to settle in Australia and Barwon Heads in 1950.  Moved, again, to Portland and to Avonmore to establish a Carnation Farm.   Schooled by nuns in a convent, trained as a nurse at the Alfred with a group known as Group X, further travelled via a bomb of a VW Beetle across the continent and on ships around and through Europe, working as a dishwasher for board, falling in love with skiing and chasing snow, a passion that remained her entire life until her knees said no more, and even then getting two replacements (we have the technology to re-build her); settling in Melbourne, meeting Dad and marrying in 1972.  Moving back to Portland to share in the running of Avonmore Carnations, giving birth to myself and Fiona, constant trips to Bridgewater Bay, Discovery Bay and the wild coast of the South West of Victoria, often to assist her brother Tim find driftwood at Discovery Bay.  Moving back to Melbourne and Terry St, re-training as a nurse, private nursing to the rich and famous in Toorak while sending her two children to private schools. Still more trips camping, to Falls Creek, Mount Buller, Mount Hotham, Thredbo and Perisher then taking the family to the US in the summer of 89 / 90 to again chase snow. Learning signed English , then later Auslan and Auslan interpreting. Working at two renown Melbourne private schools as their much loved school nurse.  Finally retiring, only to pretty much take up full time travel.  Anyone would think Mum actually liked travel!!  Playing an active role with her two grandchildren ….. and granddog, Bolt. Travelling to Canada (this was supposedly to see me, but I still think it was still primarily for the snow), further travel to Russia, Africa, Western Australia, South America.  Hiking just last year to Machu Pitchu and, as I have only recently found out, with future plans (and deposit paid), for Greece. All this while somehow maintaining a boundless amount of energy, and an enthusiasm for life that had no limit.

As her son, I literally have a lifetime of memories with my mother. Many of you in this room do too.  Memories that certainly predate my lifetime, but that I have been reminded of or told of recently, through messages, stories and photos.

Stories of mum in her childhood years, battling constantly with her younger brother Tim.  He pulling her pigtails, Mum finally having had enough, and hanging him by the jacket he was wearing on a coat hook in the hallway of the family home.  Leaving him dangling there and unable to do a thing until their mother found him there, a good hour later.

Not so discreet tales of Mum during her nurse training years and with Group X.  As one member who shall remain nameless has said …. “Oh we were very naughty girls. We got up to so much mischief.” ….. I would be disappointed if it had been any other way.

Two of Sally's oldest friends, Sue and Lace, are unable to be here today and have sent some of their thoughts:

“Oh our beautiful friend Sally with an amazing zest for life. How we will miss you.  The laugh, the welcome and all the fun times.

From 1957 - innocent girls starting nursing, supporting each other through thick and thin.

In later years with distances separating us for so long and with families to love and care for - it never diminished our friendships.

Such wonderful memories of Portland at the 21st, other times picking carnations or fishing with Edgar and Madeleine.

Hilarious times in London with Lace and Peter, trying on hats in Marks and Sparks laughing all the way from Kensington to Oxford St and finishing in a pub to cure the aching jaws

Our first year nursing holiday at Mt Buller - we think the start to Sally's romance with skiing which she loved, and trying to knit mittens.  Not a very successful exercise, in fact, disastrous.  Dancing on tables in Victoria Parade.  New Year in Mansfield and caring for her after breast cancer - so very brave.  The happy and fun times are what we will remember - they will put smiles on our faces and hide the tears behind our eyes.

Sally, farewell to a true and wonderful friend.  Always in our hearts”

Memories and photos shared of a trip through Central Australia by Mum and Gisella Barrett.  Getting bogged in bottomless sand, climbing Ayres Rock when you were still allowed to, getting lost in the gorges of the Olgas and many more.  Mum being mum, she didn’t quite get around to keeping a diary of this trip.  Too much to do!!  But Gisella did, and I look forward to hearing more of this trip when the time allows.

Gisella also recently shared a memory with me that she has let me share:

“On my first date with Christopher, only a few weeks after my arrival in Australia, I met Sally. She had invited friends to see slides of the Snowy Mountains. This was the beginning of our friendship and it never ended. We shared many highs and also lows.  Sally became more than a friend – I regard her as my Australian sister and shall miss her terribly.”

Another friend, Liz Fletcher who also could not be with us here today recalled: Kayaking with Sally at Fairfield.

“Most would have retired after a dunking, but not your mum. I was lucky enough to ski with her at Hotham – I wished I had her grace and style on the slopes. And as for those privileged whale sharks off WA …. I’m sure they would have been smiling as the adventurous Mermaid Sally swam past. Then there was the time we danced with the African drummers at the Werribee zoo ….. what memories.”

Mum introduced me to skiing at Buller at the age of eight. Dressing me head to toe in a red one piece suit, equipping me with skis that were far too long, then patiently trying to get me to snowplough, when all I could care about was going straight and fast. Mum eventually saw the merit in ski school. And her passion became mine. Yearly trips to Falls Creek with the Grays being just the start.

Christmases.  Mum absolutely loved Christmas. Annual street Christmas parties at Terry St. Almost every year the whole street invited to mums for some Christmas cheer. The traditional watching of Christmas Vacation. The laughing at the same scenes. Every year. For a small family, we certainly had an enormous Christmas lunch.  All the trimmings of a full ham, a turkey, roast vegetables, the works.  Plum pudding and her hard brandy sauce.  A sauce that more than once sent the uninitiated off the deep end with the level of alcohol contained in the recipe.

Mum absolutely adored her grandkids. Just loved them. When I was young I had named my grandmother Gung as Gran didn’t quite come out correctly. Mum, being mum, in a similar vein also wanted a particular name.  She wanted to be called Gigi!  This didn’t quite work with Annabelle though, as Annabelle declared that Mum, would be called Momo.   So Momo it became. And she loved it.

I have so many memories that come to mind when I think of Mum. 

Selflessly looking after dad when he was so very ill 4 years ago. Something she deserved a medal for. 

Sadly having to give a similar speech to this one for Dad and seeing her looking at me while I gave it.  She looked so proud.

Holidays at Portland.   History repeating.  Just loving seeing her grandchildren enjoying not only what she enjoyed, but what Fiona and I enjoyed also. Primarily waterskiing and the Bridgewater Lakes. 

School fete volunteering, school markets, 15 Lbs Café.  She was an adopted Fairfield local. 

Her brave Cancer fight. Her stunning, in my opinion, short hair, pink balloons and the BCNA. 

The Cats.  Those mighty Cats.  Theatre productions.  Cats, Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables and most recently, while Mum wasn’t there, I was able to take her place, taking her grandkids to see Matilda.  She would have loved it.

Entertaining at Terry St.   Monster dinners and providing second dinners for most of my close friends at least once a week.

The closeness to her daughter, Fiona.   As recently as their holiday together in Cairns.   They were often simply inseparable.  I know how much Fiona loved her Mum and how much she is going to miss her.

What a life lived.  As a great friend of Mum's recently said …. "Unfortunately, we all have to die at some point. But it's how we lived that matters".

And live mum did.  I do not hesitate in saying she bloody well lived.

Mums “other daughter”, Kate, recounted to me that she didn't think she had ever met a more positive person than Mum.   On me informing many of you here of Mum's untimely passing, a constant theme emerged.   Mum's energy, her smile that simply lit up wherever she may be ..... and her laugh.  You would know when mum arrived in a room, a house or in fact anywhere at all, by her infectious laugh.  It was unmissable ….. But we miss it now.

She has left a huge hole in so many people's lives.  The phone calls, and rambling voice messages, the long lunches, theatre and MTC productions, ballet, opera, walks on windswept beaches.  None of these will ever be the same.

It was always Mum's wish for her farewell to be a celebration rather than a sad affair.   Good food, good friends and good music.   A party in fact.   In Mum's words, “None of this sadness rubbish!”.  This is going to be hard for all of us here today …. It already is ….. and of course we are going to be at least a little sad at such a huge loss, but Mum …. Momo, would want us to remember the fun times, cherish the memories of times shared and celebrate the life of a woman that was .... Bloody well lived.

You were one in a million, Mum.  And absolutely irreplaceable.   Wherever you may be right now mum, be it a windswept beach, a mountain covered in a fresh dusting of snow, catching some sun, or somewhere else far more exotic that would no doubt suit you perfectly…. And cater for your dancing style …… Thank you for being a sister, a friend, a mother, a mother in law and a grandmother whose spirit, energy, enthusiasm and memories will live on for a long, long time.   Thank you mum.   We miss you terribly already, but we hope you are breathing easily and are smiling ….. and laughing as only you could. We love you mum, and we’ll miss you forever.

Sally Gillian Crisp (Leighton) 2 July 1939 - 12 September 2016

Related Content: Angus's eulogy for his father, Ian. Also lovely and also on Speakola.

" Dad, Well, we knew how much you hated the thought of funerals, didn’t like the thought of them and didn’t like going to them, so I hope you don’t mind that we give you this send off. I think it’s important that you know how much we loved you and how much you meant to all of us. " Read more

For Rex Downes: 'My memories of my father are about places', by son Stephen - 2017

28 July 2017, Grovedale, Geelong, Victoria, Australia

I suppose it's not surprising that many of my memories of my father Rex are - and will always be - about places. Special places. Landmarks. After all, he was a licensed surveyor and a man who loved and understood the world very much in terms of physical geography, maps and roads and boundaries.

Even last week, when he was very sick but alert, albeit somewhat confused, I found myself naturally wanting to tell him about places he knew that I’d also been to recently - St Arnaud (the Google Maps woman amusingly called it “Saint Ah-No”), the railway works at Murrumbeena station - names and places I hoped he would recognise and recall. So this is a kind of route map of Rex’s life and its landmarks...

Rex was born in 1935, son of Win (nee Charlton) and Charles Downes, baby brother to Rosemary, and he grew up in and around Murrumbeena. Two Murrumbeena addresses - 10 Perth Street and 6 Gilsland Road - were important landmarks for successive generations over many decades to follow: Rex and Rosemary’s grandparents, aunts, uncles and many cousins on both the Charlton and Downes sides, and then my own generation.

He went to school at Murrumbeena State School in Hobart Road and - although notoriously tone deaf - made his contribution to music by playing drums in their marching band. He went on to Lloyd Street Central School in Malvern, and then completed his secondary education at Melbourne High… the school on the hill by the Yarra (the hill being made of Silurian sandstone, he told me more than once, quoting Hills’ “Physiography of Victoria”).

At Melbourne High, he played football - he was a nuggetty rover with the nickname “Tank” - and showed an even greater talent as a cricketer. He had the ability to move the ball in the air and off the wicket both ways, remarkable for a man of his stature (5’4” at full stretch). What's more, he showed decades later he could still do it... with a tennis ball, in a back yard, on the beach, even with an arthritic hip off a one-step run-up.

A lot happened in the 1950s. After doing his Matric, Rex joined the Forests Commission on a cadetship and studied surveying at RMIT. He did his “Nasho” - National Service - at Puckapunyal (now there’s a place name) in the early 1950s. And he lost his father at a young age, becoming a great support to his widowed mother as the man of the house. With his studies finished, he completed his articles under Aubrey Houghton at the Forests Commission and became a licensed surveyor. He had already begun the routine of regular trips away to “the bush”, near and far, that would characterise much of his working life.

In 1957, people at the Forests Commission apparently conspired to matchmake Rex with Marion Williams, who was working in the Draughting office there, and they went on their first date on 18 July 1957 - 60 years ago last week. Exactly 6 months later, on the 18 January 1958, they were married and honeymooned in Marysville, a place that seems an unlikely honeymoon destination to younger people these days, but was all the rage with young Melburnians at the time. There’s nothing scandalous to be read into the short engagement - Rex had been offered a position in Tasmania working for the Public Works Department - and so they set off soon after for Launceston. While Marion made a home at 52 Janet Street, Rex worked hard on a variety of jobs, including the engineering surveys for the Batman Bridge across the upper Tamar River. Before long they had two children, me and Jenny. Continuing his passion for sport, Rex became a champion club golfer in Launceston.

They made lifelong friends in Tasmania - Rex’s work colleagues and neighbours in Kings Meadows - but Melbourne was always home and we returned to Victoria in 1967, initially to live with his mother Win in Murrumbeena and then to the house at 28 Clifford Street, Glen Waverley where Rex and Marion were to live for the next 25 years or so.

Rex rejoined the Forests Commission under Chief Surveyor Keith Kosky. It was here that he again made lifelong friendships with a group of mostly younger surveyors, field assistants and “chainmen”, many of whom are here or have been in contact this week. It’s been a source of great pride and comfort to Marion to hear how important Rex was to them as a mentor, a boss, a colleague and a friend.

His work took him to the four corners of Victoria… well, three corners, given that Victoria is kind of triangular. The names of the towns we'd see written by Mum on the calendar by the phone each week, along with the names of country hotels where he stayed - the Commercial, the Criterion, the Railway - became the landmarks of Rex’s working life:

Cobram and Numurkah in the north

The Strzeleckis and Yarram in the south

Cann River and Corryong in the east

Portland and Edenhope in the west

...plus Daylesford, St Arnaud, Myrtleford, Tallangatta, Noojee, Taggerty, Mount Baw Baw, Mount Buller and many other places in between.

As a teenager, during school holidays I was incredibly lucky to be able to go with Dad to some of these places whose names I'd been hearing for years, to experience his working life in the bush with his crazy surveying crew, to help navigate country roads, to come back at the end of the day with leeches in my socks and stay in country pubs. What a life!

He knew people all over Victoria (most of them publicans), made conversation easily, never lacked for something to talk about but was a good listener, too. He made some surprising friendships: George Vasilopoulos, of the Abominable restaurant on top of Mount Buller (the A-Bom), who hosted an early Christmas dinner for the survey party every year for several years (I’m told what happened on Mount Buller stays on Mount Buller); Stuart Calvert of the Inlet Hotel at Airey’s Inlet, who called him “the little brown man”.

It came as a big shock to everyone when Rex had a heart attack in 1975 and he was a pioneer patient for open heart triple bypass surgery at St Vincent’s Hospital five years later in 1980. Within a few more years, he'd also had both hips replaced. So hospitals also became landmarks of a sort in Rex’s life, but not usually for long. He seemed to dust himself off after each of these health setbacks or challenges and move on.

Aireys Inlet had been a special place in Rex’s childhood (just as Eastern View a few miles along the coast had been for Marion) and it became special for all of us when we started spending summer holidays there in the early 1970s. It was made even more special when, after Rex’s mother died in 1977, his share of her estate allowed Rex and Marion to buy the house at Aireys that became Winsome, in honour of Win. This was definitely another landmark, with its tradition of New Year’s Eve parties, a tent city on the grass and cricket on the beach the next day.

Rex’s working life ended early when he retired because of his health and his growing frustration with endless departmental reorganisations under successive state governments... but that was nearly 30 years ago! That's really when a remarkable second phase of life began for Rex and Marion, involving grandchildren and travel.

They moved from Glen Waverley to Parkdale in the early 1990s, to be close to Jenny and their grandchildren Meg and Greg. They also began travelling to Queensland every year to get away from cold Melbourne winters that were starting to bother Rex, seeping into his metal hip joints and making life outdoors much less enjoyable. Having worked their way up and down the Queensland coast, they found and settled on Magnetic Island as their home away from home, and for more than a decade would set off every Queen’s Birthday weekend to drive to Townsville, exploring different parts of inland NSW and Queensland on the way.

In 1996, Rex and Marion took their first and only trip outside Australia, circling the globe. They spent several weeks in the UK with Jenny, Peter, Meg and Greg and toured Europe before moving on to the US, staying with Renee, Maddie and me in Philadelphia and then doing the Grand Canyon, Vegas and Hawaii. Rex saw many of the major landmarks of the world in one long, amazing trip - from Stonehenge to the Grand Canyon, from the Arc de Triomphe to Trump Tower!

But probably nowhere in the world impressed him as much as Magnetic Island. He loved long walks on uncrowded beaches, the beautiful Horseshoe Bay in particular, and there was always a sheltered bay out of the wind no matter which way it was blowing. We all got together to celebrate his 70th birthday in Townsville in 2005 and Magnetic Island has become a place of pleasure and pilgrimage for all of us.

Of course they would return to Parkdale every year, but eventually began looking for a new place to live. They considered a return to Launceston, or the Bellarine Peninsula, but settled on Grovedale. Health issues started to kick in almost as soon as they moved here, but the garden still thrived. Yes, as much as he knew these places all over Victoria and Tasmania, or the towns between Melbourne and Townsville, or Oxford or Cornwall or Manhattan or Waikiki, and as much as he loved Magnetic Island, the place Rex really loved to be was in his own back yard, with his family close at hand, and preferably with a beer. Cutting grass, weeding, burning off. Planting and tending vegetables - tomatoes, radishes and endless varieties of lettuce. Or growing amazing fuchsias. Minding grandchildren. Looking after family dogs (or were they looking after him?). He worked incredibly hard in the garden, mostly with his shirt off and the radio on, listening to football, cricket, the races, any sport.

I like to think Rex has left his mark, not only in the garden beds he built and tended... or the pegs and blazes and permanent marks he left all over Victoria... or the bearings and boundaries he drew on countless survey maps... but - of course - in the lives of so many people. And a very special place in our memories and our hearts.

for Judith Mary Martin: 'I just don't want to die on anyone's birthday', by Jennifer L Martin - 2017

27 January 2017, Melbourne, Australia

“Some people make things happen, some people watch things happen, and some people wonder what happened” to paraphrase Jim Lovell, Apollo 13 astronaut.

Judith Mary Martin – whose life we celebrate today – unquestionably falls into the category of people who made things happen. Mum may not have flown to the moon, but she most certainly reached for the stars.

Born in 1934 in country Victoria, Judy had an older sister Faye, and a twin sister Joy. When still a little girl, her parents separated, and she moved with her mum and two sisters to Melbourne. It was the middle of the depression era: they lived in abject poverty, surviving on bread & dripping at times, doing midnight runners to avoid paying rent, and going to the pawnbrokers to get items out of hock when her mum – a factory worker - got paid. As a young girl, mum had already decided she would never work in a factory; she would get educated, work hard, and make sure that her family would have a stable and loving home life. She achieved all that and much more, despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

Having to leave school at grade 8 – aged 14 - wasn’t a great start. Mum’s first job was at the Imperial War Graves Commission, but she really wasn't cut out for office work. She toyed with the idea of becoming a nun, but in the end chose nursing as her vocation. Once the decision was made, she then made it happen. Trouble was, nursing training couldn’t begin till she was 18, and mum was just 16. So she hounded the nursing director till she got a job as a probationer and then after significantly more hounding, she entered nursing training at the tender age of 17 years and 5 months. She was in her element, she loved the work, and she loved the girls she worked with. She said that those years were the best of her life, the most carefree, and loads of fun.

She worked hard, was determined to succeed, and eventually became Nurse Unit Manager (Charge Nurse) of the entire operating theatre department at a major Victorian Hospital. Although she left school at 14, she returned to study part-time aged 52, first to complete her VCE and then to graduate with a Bachelor of Nursing in 1992 aged 58; all the while working, and caring for her youngest children. She was still working two nights a week at the age of 72.

Life was anything but plain sailing. Two weeks after she started as a nursing probationer, her adored father died – he was 42 and she just 16; still a child.

Mum married twice, had 10 children and 8 grandchildren. For much of the early years, there was very little money, and life was a constant struggle. By mum’s account, her first marriage was very unhappy and didn't last long. In her second marriage, it was mum that mostly set the family goals, she who made things happen to achieve her aspirations. She orchestrated family moves upward, including from a “hovel” to a housing commission home (the “lap of luxury”) in country Victoria, by literally begging the local MP who she collared at a school function. She also triggered a later move by reporting the house we lived in to the local council, who swiftly condemned it as unfit to live in.

Meanwhile, there were personal misfortunes to contend with. As an infant, Geoff nearly died from an infection in the mid-60s. Later that same year, Dad was also in hospital for months after a terrible logging accident, leaving mum with a family of 6 kids and one on the way, with no income and no insurance. On Christmas Day 1979, a car ploughed through a red light into ours and mum and dad ended up in hospital for many weeks. Much, much worse though was the loss of two children: in 1973, mum’s 10th child Gerard died in childbirth. And in 1991, her 7th child Peter died aged 25, in a car accident. These tragic events nearly broke her heart. But as she said in her own words many years later:

“There are always things in life you wish you didn't have to go through, because they hurt so much. But you know what? That’s part of the journey too.”

“Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and move forward.”

Mum did what she could, with the few resources she had, to improve the family’s lot: buying Lan Choo tea because it came with coupons to claim gifts in the store in town; getting her driver’s licence, and then helping teach many of her kids to drive – even if that did include falling asleep in the passenger seat with Steven at the wheel. In the 1970s, mum’s name was picked out of the barrel to spin the wheel on the Ernie Sigley Show. She won a TV, we think - and a trip to Sydney after Ernie found out she had so many children. Asked what message she wanted to send her family on national telly, mum famously said:

“I just hope someone remembers to make the school lunches”.

Perhaps it was the Ernie Sigley trip that started the travel bug: she began taking road trips with youngest children Jan and Cally – to the Great Ocean Road, Adelaide, Sydney. She took her first overseas trip when she was 47, with Cathy to visit Tony and Olga and grandson Eann in Israel and then on to Italy and the UK. Because she was going to be away such a long time, she left us a long list of things to do. Including a fire drill every evening. Which we promptly ignored. Mum took to the jetset life with gusto, soaking up history and cultures, and traveling around the world into her 70s. On one notable occasion, and despite family misgivings, mum set off to Bangkok, by herself, just after 9/11 – aged 67. She was on her way to visit Ian and Cally in London, and nothing was going to stop her from doing that.

One of her greatest delights was creating things for others. After knitting her first jumper at age 11, the knitting needles hardly ever stopped. Look at any family photo from the 60s through to the 80s, and you’ll inevitably see kids sporting mum’s handmade knits. She was a prolific letter-writer too. Seeing her beautiful handwriting on a newly arrived envelope when you were far from home, was certain to lift the spirits - with family news, photos and mum’s life advice. In the 1990s, mum discovered patchwork quilting after a visit to an Amish Village in the USA. She created over 100 exquisite quilts, that are now our treasured heirlooms.

Mum didn’t just create tangible things like jumpers, letters and quilts, she also created intangibles - memories, moments, merriment – especially around celebrations of birthdays, Easter, and Christmas. She truly cared about people, and she enjoyed having a bit of fun too! She loved movies and music, and would sing or dance at the drop of a hat.

“Life is to be lived” she said, “to be enjoyed right to the end. Make the most of every moment.”

Coming from good Irish stock, Mum had a fine sense of the absurd. When Tony Abbott announced that he was bringing back Knights and Dames, mum’s planned morning tea morphed into a Royal Tea Party and she crowned herself Lady Muck of ...... Some years before, she came to my New York–themed fancy dress party in QLD when I was about to leave for America. There was King Kong, Crocodile Dundee, several movie stars, and as guest of honour I was Madonna. Much to my embarrassment, the guest-of-honour’s mother turned up as a New York bag lady. Oh how she laughed remembering that story recently! Going back even further, when we as kids would ask how old she would be on an upcoming birthday, it would always be 29. Or 28. Or 25.

When mum first let me know a few years ago that she wanted me to give the eulogy at her funeral, I wondered if there was anything particular she wanted me to say.

Mum simply said: “Don’t sugarcoat it; just tell it like it is”.

Me: “OK….. so you don’t want me to say you were perfect?”

Mum, after a moment’s pause: “Hmmm, well, let’s say 99% perfect”

I asked what she was most proud of achieving in her very full life. This time without hesitation, she said

“My family. I feel very, very fortunate with my children. I have a very blessed life. And I love my grandchildren to bits. There’s not a one of them – kids or grandkids - that you wouldn’t be really glad to know. So I am twice blessed.”

Always fiercely independent, after succumbing to side-effects of treatment for multiple myeloma, mum had to let go, to allow her children to arrange her affairs, chauffeur her, take her to appointments, feed and look after her, as she had done singlehandedly for all of us so many years ago. What she didn’t seem to understand was that far from being a burden, doing these things for her was a privilege and an honour. Looking after each other – well you taught us that mum, that is what families are for.

Despite being in constant pain, mum accepted her lot, remaining positive and curious about the world, right to the end. She was anxious about one thing though. Late last year, when Christmas was coming up, followed soon after by several family birthdays, she said:

“I’m looking forward to Christmas so much, seeing everyone together again. It’s extra special this year as I wasn’t meant to be here for this one.  I just don’t want to die on anyone’s birthday.”

Well, mum, you successfully navigated that minefield. Your death was the way you wanted it, peaceful, quick and not coinciding with a family birthday. You were ready to go, even if we weren’t ready for you to leave. We will be reminded of you every day by the simple things you always loved: a Richmond scarf, a cake stall, a flower garden, an old movie, a cup of tea with sympathy.

Personally, I will treasure the times spent together recently, especially our last day – when you laughed over taking selfies. How many other 82 year olds have an iPhone, I ask you?

Mum, I will never forget that it was you who inspired me to reach for the stars, you who put that first precious sprinkle of stardust into each of your children’s hands, so that we too could aspire to be people who make things happen.

Judith Mary Martin, Judy, Mum, Granny;

What an extraordinary life you lived, a life that touched so many;

Now you are, without doubt, forever 29 years old, and 99% perfect.